It Ends Tonight
by TravelingSong
Summary: "A smile, just a smile from her, fleeting seconds of serenity, it had always sufficed and he can still feel her cold hand beneath his, remembers the slight nod she had given him before she had gone inside. Before the world around him had turned black."


**This is how my mind deals with the winter hiatus apparently. Please enjoy and review if you get a chance!**

* * *

The waiting might just kill him.

He hates not being in control but there was no other way this time. He is too recognizable and if they would catch him, too, then all of this would have been in vain.

So he leaves it to Dembe, leaves it to a team he can trust. Get her out. Bring her back.

He should receive a call any minute now.

It's a solid plan. Ambush her transfer to another facility, extricate the prisoner. He's had his fair share of practice in these operations. But now he can only be patient and rely on others- two things he has never been particularly good at.

They have only one try.

And then-

He doesn't want to think of the alternative.

He takes another sip and the scotch is bitter and it _burns_ , it burns right through him, that familiar sensation, the pain he's grown accustomed to. He has seen the footage, her in the box, _his_ box, has endured the cruel irony.

 _I_ _never wanted you to be_

 _L_ _ike me_ _._

He couldn't keep her safe and now, well, now he has to start from scratch. There's no time for self-pity, for chastising himself. Maybe later. But she needs him now. She needs his mind, she needs his contacts, his ideas, his power. His skills.

He can't shake the feeling that had crept up his spine when he saw the police cars rush past him. _T_ _his will all be over soon._ But not like this, never like this. That hadn't been his promise.

 _T_ _his_ was all terribly, agonizingly wrong.

The phone is still silent and he might just throw it against a wall out of pure rage, out of frustration, but of course it's an immature urge and he needs to focus.

He is so used to her presence now, to her scent, to her support and it's all so quiet, so lonely without her.

He'll take her far away once this is over.

Maybe they could get on a plane tonight. If everything works out. It _has to_ work out.

He will get her out of the country, remedy the one chance they had missed in the beginning, even though there wasn't really a choice to be made.

She had trusted him to put an end to all of this and he had tried so hard to make it bearable, to tell her stories and entertain her and keep her mind off the situation they had found themselves in, a smile, just a smile from her, fleeting seconds of serenity, it had always sufficed and he can still feel her cold hand beneath his, remembers the slight nod she had given him before she had gone inside. Before the world around him had turned black.

And then the cuffs.

And the mattress.

And the terrible headache.

And his first thought.

 _Lizzie._

Always Lizzie.

He swallows the remnants of his whiskey, another useless attempt at sedation, he can't keep staring at the damn phone any longer, he needs to know what's going on, if she's alright, _if she_ _'_ _s alright._

He gets up, his body exhausted and weary just like his mind, and then he sees it before the small device can even make a sound, its screen suddenly bright and illuminated, and then a voice, and then relief, _relief,_ and then…

A knock on the door.

Well.

 _It's done, it's over._ _She_ _'_ _ll be right there._ Dembe had really meant it.

And he doesn't even think about his appearance, about open vests and messy shirts. It doesn't matter now anyway.

He opens the door and holds his breath.

And then she's right in front of him.

And he guides her inside without touching her, because he can't, because he is sure he wouldn't be able to let go.

She's the most beautiful sight he has ever laid eyes on and his heart might just burst out of his chest.

And then the door is closed and once again, finally, it's just the two of them. _It's as it should be,_ his very own fantasy. And he's frozen and in shock and staring at her and _why the hell_ isn't he moving?

"Red,I-" she begins and it sounds so _broken._

He falters quite suddenly.

„ _God_ , Lizzie."

And he pulls her against him, envelops her in his arms, loses all concepts of lines and boundaries, he doesn't care, _he doesn_ _'t care_ , she's alive and she's with him, and she positively falls into him now, clings to him, hands grasping fabric, searching for something to hold on to.

He could have lost her but he didn't.

He _didn_ _'t_.

The one thing to remember. And it will never happen again. He won't ever let it happen again.

„I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry," and he might tell her a thousand times but she needs to know, needs to understand.

The pressure of her face against his neck is divine and he can feel her tears, her pain and her suffering. He will make them his, carry her burden.

He pulls back, not too far, but he needs to look at her, her face cradled in his shaking hands.

"Never do that again," he tells her. "You can _never_ do that again."

Giving up her chance at exoneration to save him, value his life like her own, putting herself at risk, he could go on and on, it's not worth it, he is _not_ worth it.

And she responds with the faintest smile and she doesn't need to say it now because he knows and he wishes he didn't.

 _I risked my life for you because I care about you._

She won't listen to him anyway. He knows that, too.

He loves her for it, in fact.

He wants to tell her so many things but instead-

"Thank you," she says. "Thank you, Red."

He is rendered speechless.

They will get on a plane and she can tell him all about her rescue then, and they can make plans and discuss how they want to continue, plan their revenge, dismantle the Cabal and its affiliates, watch the world crumble around them, continue to be one step ahead of the FBI, maybe two or three, he'll make sure of it, they won't be able to get to her, he will always draw his gun first, he will take the shot if he has to, they will clear her name, they will survive, they will _live_.

But that comes later.

And now?

Now he holds her to him, breathes her in, kisses her cheek, shares his warmth with her. With her body pressed against his he can barely muster the strength to open his mouth as his lips linger near her ear. Maybe she won't even hear him. And his tone is so sweet, so comforting, so reassuring, so witty, so memorable, so everything she needs from him.

If only everything else could be as simple as this.

"You're welcome."


End file.
